i can see myself as someone else in the music
but until opportunity knocks, im just me with the mirror broken on the pillow

i took the pills

i made the call

waiting for the ambulance that wont ever come

do i speak a different language? does my tongue tie your mind up in knots with misleading rhymes and riddles?

its sad when a daily dose of wentz is what keeps your life sane

prescription: lifetime subscription

keep me writing these insane thoughts, delirious words stitched to repetitive melodies
keep me sane, drive on through these doldrums in the passenger seat

keep on singing that same new song

keep that cd spinning

no change to spare

scratch that, id rather just be left alone

keep me alive

forever under the weather with the downpour in my umbrella

past out
still awake
livin on short store hours
back in this line of thinking 

facing certain death against the firing squad

test. if there was a point to this, i wouldnt be sitting here with a ticket stub to this generic drama. ten says theres black tear tracks to check off the stereotypes tomorrow morning. 

/test

welcome.to.the.____.

music's changing; what weve come to love as innovative moves to color in the lines of style. hypocritical "i will never be" to what you are today. 

the long worn and faded cliches expected to fill the space between the music notes. living on the reputation it took years, tears, and sweat to build only to loose the respect you started with.

new administration; lemme show you my remix of your mind. 

one day youll see your reflection in your own celebrity parodies and prose.

reverting to what we were whe out time's already come and long past.

im making a promise to the person in the mirror never to become my future self

ebb.flow.blood.red.rose.

im spending my sleeping hours learning a new language, then maybe you can understand my silence. im spending my waking hours dreaming so that my wishes come true.
ill slit my ankles before the moon drags the river out again. different, but more effective.

cherry.distortion.

the taste was sweet, intoxicating even as it lingered on his lips. his fingers, painted a crimson violet, left incriminating prints on the refrigerator, on the counter, on the kitchen knife, on the screen door...

the call for help muffled as his tongue tied itself up in knots, just like the cherry stem.

the taste was sour, bitter as it stained his conscience. the call for the ambulance would go unheard, already useless in the situation as the fingerprints were the only evidence of his forsaken, murdered childhood on the warm summer's day.

fragmented.Tomi.Zero.

The sound of the drops hitting the window, the windshield wipers working overtime for the child to be able to wander the worn streets alone through the monsoon. Keeping in time with the passing cars and remaining oblivious to the questioning stares and ignorant glares as they slow down as if they were observing a horrific car wreck. Not a word, of comfort or curiosity. Mute, with the silent screams and objections echoing off the boundaries of the caged mind. 

Tomi Zero. The new student in the front of the room, not much spoken with the jacket, unruly hair, and lanky form outlined in kohl speaking volumes for his character. Appearing in the flickering flame, vanishing in the swirling smoke rising from the cigarette not yet crushed under his black boots. The rockstar in the loner's eyes. 

The blades grating on the concrete; the sweat mixed with tears mixed with anxiety and blame. Aching muscles call out for collapse. The wheels keep spinning until the inevitable face first stop courtesy of the pavement. Brush burned knees and elbows sting nothing compared with pride and personality. 

Tomi Zero. Null and void. The hero just as ignored. The bystander in the crowd just as unimpressed. Unimportant enough to be ignored, important enough to be idolized. Built up in the loner's eyes. 

The clock running down, reality ruling the calendar, the blizzard quickly approaching. Medication out of refills; the shrink too immersed in their own confusion to condemn and prescribe. What's real, what's fake, when everything's inside your head?

remix.dance-edit-dance

i dont know what im writing anymore. just that writing acts as the de-clutter-ization of my hectic mind and a strike against my confidence when nothing comes out  perfect translation and the words just stumble along. i dont know what im dreaming anymore. your face forever gone and haunting awkward hours. no chance of a crash refresher course. the pencil lines disappeared into a sea of torn pink eraser pieces while the permanent marker remains as bold as ever, if not even more noticeable than before. before the massacre of closure. gambled that chance, now any chance for strip poker? there's not much left to take, insanity already beat you to it. im gonna miss me when im gone, when i completely belong to a figment of my own imagination.

set.me.loose.

lighting the match to lighter fluid fireworks. sparks falling down in colored words. frazzled declarations of the mind. the fantasies of strawberry short sins. sounds of voices never heard echoed. in the lock box. in the corner. safety in silence. with nothing thrilling, shying towards the bolted door. unexpected analytical talent with unconventional source. layers of intricate personality, the dullest shines. the emotions monsoon of the anonymous author. questions with no one to answer. turn to the mathematics of unstable minds. articulation confirmation: necessity. two voices lost in society standards. music blaring a similar message. guidelines from broken origins. drizzled chocolate caramel atop the cherried bow. presents unfold, never told. lining the pages of the dying calendar. the metaphorical risk of vacant locked hotel rooms. camping out in the deserted hallway with a ring of mismatched keys. the car, the heart, the mind; not the inspiration, not the motivation. to speak the obvious truth. the sugarcoated anorexic ideals. fitted for the schizoparanoia. measured from left to right, head to toe, tokyo to new york. in miles, inches, imagination. summer, winter, fall. spring nicht.

conventional.poetry.in.motion.

and with this intricate drawing drew
the brave, the hungry, and the few
too much to give with little received
the storm clouds brewing under eaves
a darkness of the heart never known
all at a price for everyone to own
the whole world brimming of black and white
oh what a strange color is the night
burning through autumn to awakening spring
around the eyes the true colors ring
a deadly secret to harbor and host
as the morning approaches, unseen to most

coffee.soundtrack.

silver rings circling the cardboard
drinking down caffeinated dreams
until the last drop fades away to ink hitting the napkin
the back corner table resrved for the maximum of two
only the brave venture there to taste
the bittersweet flavor of loneliness
the aromas of asethetic desire entice the mind with delusions
mixed
the silence of the loving heart
whipped cream whims
sedative sugar syrups
blender beats bender
all contained inspiration in recycled words
"what can i get for you today?"

invisible echoing footsteps, my heart speaks in a language yet to be invented

version.2.star.r.

lost balance.
once clandestine reveries.

fallen from the tiptoeing windowsill
the playfully tuned piano-keyed grass
slipping through smiling sunshine skies
dessert wastelands of promising naivety
fingers flailing, grasping to catch whimsy white whirls

landed in the driver’s seat of an original car
speeding down a broken one way highway
fragments of life; what could’ve been/what will be
blended, splattered on the windshield

flicker over to the passenger seat
the favorite love/hate relationship, not the cricket
dirty sneakers on the dashboard
painted jeans, thumb-holed hoodie
headphones echoing musical silence.

the sky’s an infinite boundary
but the road eventually comes to an end
its still only morning
but we’re already running low on the midnight oil

the drive home to comfort, with obligated stops included
will take until the calendar business’ end
but with this 2-star-r attitude
the bottom of the gas tank concludes the journey
inevitably trapped in (un)happily (n)ever after

to days of cars and speeding hearts;
miles driven, pages turned and written in history
promise rings burning down with the candle wax
to circle the eyes staring blankly at the map

schrei ‘sie sind hier’
to a dormant personality.

schrei.

lost balance.
fallen from piano keyed grass
slipping through smiling sunshine skies
to dessert wastelands of promising naivety
fingers flailing, grasping to catch the whimsy white whirls
landing in the driver's seat of a new car speeding
down a broken one way highway
with bits of life; what could've been/what will be
blended and splattered on the windshield
flash over to the passenger seat
no longer a cricket, but your favorite love/hate relationship
psychosomatic: the new romantic
dirty converse on the dashboard
painted jeans, thumb-holed hoodie
headphones echoing musical silence
the sky's boundless limit
but the road inevitably comes to an end
its only still morning
but we're already running low on the midnight oil
the drive home to comfort
will take til the calendar business' end
with the obligated stops
but we'll see where the car runs out of gas
with this 2*r attitude
trapped in (un)happily (never)after

tell me where im going and ill tell you where im at
YOU ARE HERE

from warm tears flowing to become immobile in ice
from tracks outlined in black originate
to not even want the light from the sun
to the warmth and burn long ago forgotten

i want the warmth of the sun without the mocking color burn.
seasons come just as fast as they go. stumbling baby steps of identity crisis. days where death can't bring you down. days where stereotypes scream their prescence. comformity becomes being different. psychosematic; the new romantic. words crossed out in thought. the hidden meaning already across the country by train with a ticket bought next century. fallen leaves; the past memories. the lawn poking through; the mistakes. scream 'wake up' to a dormant personality. normality missed the memo. struggling to cross the starting line. working backwards as the summer snow blows in a final transition.

from the first day of kindergarten, a case of mistaken identity. a late bloomer finally wanting to live; only when the dying embers have nothing left to give.
to days of cars and speeding hearts; miles driven, pages turned and written in history. promise rings burning down with the candle wax to circle our eyes.

strike.through.

im back to where I started, come full triangle with a few changes; just a different picture on the puzzle. the main point is that i couldn’t feel it. numb, the quiet mind if only. with nothing but old clichés and jokes repeated over and over until no one cries, no one laughs. the clock moving slower everyday. weird voices from faceless masks. single lines spelling out fate and personalities in crimson. a notebook filled with meaningless words. pale paper thin skin drawn on with permanent neon. black flooding through to sparkles and glitter, drowning out bandaid promises. disorders; sugar and marshmallow prescriptions. music fueled therapy not conscious. disease of normality isn’t enough. auditory hallucinations, keep not listening. balls bouncing off course; a claim by those not accepted, only in the quiet eyes. stay away from the corner, stay away from their thoughts before you cant escape.

day.&.night.

her skin was cold to the touch, or maybe it was his fingers that were chilled, there was no difference. either way she blended into the stark white pillow with the absence of light penetrating through the heavy curtains drawn shut. outside the moon reflected against the broken sidewalk in the starless night.
her eyes stayed hidden under translucent lids. just hours ago, they had sparkled under flashing lights and infectious rhythms.
her awkward bones matched the vapid veins inked in the shallow skin. the blood running down, tracing patterns in the twisted material.
he pulls the sheet up over her head, covering up the crimson crime scene. a sense of closure as the light from the open window bathes him in the warm moonlight as he waits for fate.
the morning brings a knock on the door and icy sunshine. walking out hand in hand with love, having left lust dead in the bed.

mad.hatters.

balancing along the windowsill, he stood in the sparkling sun. a tip of his top hat and a waterfall of raindrops fell as a rainbow into his pocket. he sends his love in sugarcoated roses dancing along the close horizon. sweet moments i wouldnt change for anything; a cherished lifetime ahead-
“Is it speaking of your obsession with coffee and its side effects or have you finally gone mad?”

apparently.i.have.style.

style, what style? pay the exam admission fee and ill be the one making the profit. see how much you dont know. see how unspecific the answer key is. take pictures for your fashion magazine. front page headline so i can kill the scene. clean the blood off the floor before it stains. watch it drown under water and swirl down the drain.

yet.again.not.surprising.

sleep clouds rolling in against stubborn eyelids. photoshoped pictures of imaginary illusions. static crackling through the background voices. hooded authors in the corner writing down the shots as they see them. bullet words killing sanity; social concepts bleeding out black, blending into the starry sky. sick; two hundred fever combined. mentality lost in stereotypical conversation and daily observances. voices too loud, speaking common nonsense. pay attention, pay your time without crime. doesn't help to be prepared when the expectations are unknown, null and void. bossy overtones above assumptions made up of sour sugar. rough calculations over coffee cups, frosting coated taste tests. not enough to make it worthwhile. keep silent, keep them guessing. blindfolded, gagged, bound; tentative touch the only explanation. dance floor drama done to death. lunch hour statistics prove more deadly than fifth. until life do we part, together never in temporary forever.

my eyes burn from being awake. his words weigh down my eyelids, top heavy windows. all day he waits patiently for the sun to lay down its golden head in slumber on pillows of clouds; the world follows at ease by the nightlight of the moon. slip between the sheets into a persona no one would ever guess to know. he waits for his chance to come alive, putting his stitching aside with one final scar before taking control of the dark.

need.something.else.

im folding up, cashing out, waking up, down and out. my minds asleep and dreaming. with nothing more just sleepwalking through the hallways. the notes littering the floor, crumpled up words that will never make it to your ears. staring ahead, blank as the wall; a small flicker of your attention is all im asking for. begging; scraping my knees raw on the concrete.

its.in.what.spins.you.round.

a different style of writing invented and lost to the harsh critics. stalking the author by moonlight. detailed notes writing themselves into the sunset's schedule. leaving behind the sarcastic views of logic in the minds of asylum walls. argumentative freestyle contradicting personality until the fowl crows foul. keeping technology for the worst moment of breakdown, firecracker hearts in handwriting. keep saying charms and disillusioned monotonies with confidence, scattered pencil veins sketched on inanimate canvas. thrive on the silence of the working mind and beating heart. tension between stares across rooms and volumes of late nights and coffee caffination leave nothing for thought; threat, promise or lifetime guarantee? strike out mental complications without a second thought. hide the locks but keep the keys around your neck.

disco.

theres a familiar face in the booth; the one spinning out the music, flooding the techno beats with poison. theres a familiar face in the corner, hidden within shadows, the spark of night a fire in his eyes; the poison reflected in his whispered words, echoed in the promises. commands subliminally mixed through contact; a rough calloused touch leaving a shattered childs handprint, crimson to the sight. infectious tones strumming through veins; losing control to save the soul. rhythm; keep dancing. ebony strands, skin ethereal as the neon lights. theres a familiar face standing behind, the shotgun at his feet while heart and mind bleed out. same size, matching bullet holes; torn apart counts of eight. insight to the disease; map out its path, prints from lips to hips. theres a familiar face; blended in aches, sweat, tears.
two dead on the dance floor.

keep.me.there.

the need for anything more than nothing. their eyes open wide, dialated and vapid. lost inspiration, took a wrong turn trapped in the closet. hidden innuendos going high over the heards of sheep exchanged for dreams. sticky note the snowflakes to strawberry milkshakes. hard to ask the problem when the answer is just as unwanted. enigmas so rare that they're never unique. my words are my thoughts, interchangable. the desire for something only admitted to one person. head under pillows, fingers in ears, blindfolded under the bed. muffled heartbeat before its rhythms pulse true. my saving grace called in sick today. common sense works the forty hour nine to five week with no such thing as overtime. random guitar strings hanging, waiting to put your head through the noose. wishing you were older to get in on the inside joke. paying your way through circumstance. prepaid travel plans to the past. silent; pencil scratching away at the paper, erasing the plastic cover on nerve endings. footsteps overhead, underground, passing through who you are today. the bit down fingernails driven in and forever sealing the coffin. one last take before the body's numb, before the remaining moral fragments blow away in the blistering wind as dead flakes of skin. bittersweet silence. dissect the narrator; the lack of heart, the poison blood, the frosted tissue inside and out. warmth of longing never felt so cold. awaiting the elusive sleep, to join in on the slumbering world of illusion, to take door number two and find the easy way out. brushing fingertips in desolate backalleys. the promise of blood mingling with broken concrete and spilled coffee leaking out of the paper cup at your feet. fangs bared, botched the job as approaching light. infection spreading as transformation to moonlight, forsake the sun. antibiotics dulling the thirst. whispers frozen on the air.

in.a.perfect.world.

set one clock early. sleep in.
set one clock late. work better under pressure.
stressed to combustion. hyperactive overanalysis.
recharged braincells. written in slipping nerves.

the house is burning down, flames lick the edge of your soul, but hitting the snooze button one more time is worth the perfection i see in your dreams. underage mindfucking in a suburban setting. jailbaited behind locked doors and in backseats. hidden in threadbare boxers left up to the imaginative touch. would you still taste as sweet drowned in saltly tears over ice? sour green eyes watch your last breath fade from the windshield. suffocate on cheap perfume. im writing the story on a page you havent turned to yet. the fantasy turns fatal when you find out. stay on the same page.paragraph.scar.grain of sand in the hourglass. tick away time until the plane takes off and youre on the way to all youve ever wanted. destination: second chances in deserted hallways, entwined with second choices out of dress code. best friends around with suspects. i cant keep my own, would you ever have known? i write these words to fit in a place that never gave me a chance or passing glance, an identity to be questioned. falling in love with the backwards clock. waiting for the twentysix fuck. pierce the flesh, sensitive metal. exposed to a stranger for painful inevitable pleasure. arms wide open, raw and bleeding, your name as i walk out the door.

english.words.mental.meanings.

sapphire blues lost behind pale screens, ruby reds poised in a sucker’s dream. tapping on the window of the mind, only to be denied entrance to our li(v)es.
venture to where the young wild things are with beating compass in hand. they haunt the second star to the right, until the enchantment of infinity on high.
bright ideas in moonlit rooms, secrets come alive in the dark,
truth revealed under black lights. fluorescent placebo, soundtracked emotions, imaginative truth stretching unknown limits, while logic remains wallflowered in the corner.
somewhere away the foul calls out. snooze button reality, illusion the day. first rays of conscious thought color them golden; black and white return to contrast.
concept: soul mates never die, drying their eyes on these earth toned clouds,
living the selfless masquerade of requited love.
subdued ethereal guides scattered by daylight, only to become reacquainted with them
in a different state of mind at a later time.
all as the spirits of the night take their routine flight.
-xo

biting my nails and spitting out tacks. wheres the script everyones acting off? no more pictures please i dont want more problems. take up space in another mind. will you be able to sleep when they come to collect five months rent overdue? pay with your personality and (wet) dreams. cutting schemes.dreams.screams to movie screens. my heads emptier than my bed. never alone in the back of the class behind the glass. senseless claims at one am. beat me. tattoo scars and violent words, poison my blood with harsh truth and sentiments. starve me. leave me in the dark with nothing but my depreciating thoughts and ignore the delirious cries for those who paint this black and white night. leave me be, the walls wont come down for you.

cut.filmstrip.

fucked up now. pulled the trigger too many times. words at over 120 miles an hour. kickback only to come as repercussions. slow and quiet would have won enough sanity to survive. warning bells in the lymph nodes, ringing in the ears. hopes as blank as the bullets. side effects always varied. never a motive for a car crash. head on at the first second; phantoms forever in eternity at the last.

with nothing left to hope for. cut throat by secret glances.
losing everything that i knew. blood loss overflowing.
i cant smile when you're around. brain stopped functioning.
light up the room with silence. heart barely beating.
my secrets spilled over a loudspeaker. lungs barely breathing.
everything to lose in having nothing. nerves one final slip.

reserve the backroom for my breakdown. keep your mind in the gutter to act as an audience for my street curb stage antics too obscene for the bedroom.
ruby red lips poised in a suckers dream.

breathing in silence. dying as every word tightens your noose. im coloring your lungs invisible. forget me (nots) if you must.
my biggest mistake was trying to keep you alive. the headlines are already filled with flash photography. no room for amateur poetic wallflowers.

take the placebo. entrust yourself to void prescriptions and subscribe to the music in your mind before daylight scatters emotions into stereotypes.

dry your eyes on these earth toned clouds.
soul mates never die.
manxwoman.sunshinexrain.blackxwhite. modern junkie.
30 characters short of a novel.
we are walking time bombs, black holes of our own galaxies. tapping on the window of our mind, wanting in on our li(v)es. extroverted introvert.

pocket the 8ball to score the quietest. tall, dark haired, mysterious. rewrite this once upon a time with a suicide ending.
gods joke most cruel.
suffocating in my vacuum-sealed bag, surrounded by peanuts and bubble wrap, in this box addressed to anywhere but here. translation: your front door.

love/hate relationship with sanity. insomnia induced inspiration. androgynous alliterations and metaphors. side effects and suicide attempts.
wentzian ethics.

checkthemailbox. dontbotherwiththescript. alreadyknowthepart. questionsforwardedtotheinternaldirector. notimeforshyness. barelyenoughforimaginativetruth.
speaking in metaphors until nine in the afternoon. flourescent truth under the blacklight.
the rooster crows as the first rays of conscious thought color them golden as black and white return to contrast, living the selfless masquerade of requitted love.

with beating compass in hand, haunting the second star to the right until infinity on high. venture to where the young wild things are.

book.in.hand.

"youre reading a book. youre doing nothing. you could be doing something productive."
a world that frowns upon expanding horizons and imagination. creativity lost to production statistics. a world where emotions exist only on commercialized kindergarten rhymes.
our world.

never.next.to.you.

always full of secrets. thought theres somethings that the world never deserves to know. a first time for everything that would change the appearance, the personality, if someone was to ever flip through the locked pages of life. never tell for months on end. confident enough to tell one soul. regrets born after the sixth. casting reasonable doubt on subconscious. pleading the fifth. keep eyes down. go back to a time of bliss in ignorance. rewind three in the morning self conversations. take the eyes of a liar; promised truth and painful revelations. ashamed to become what's contradictory; to grow up. keep everything inside before a wildfire. nothing but torment. persistent questioning of what will never be; what used to exist safely before escape. embarrassed to say thoughts, act on emotions. clandestine errors. silence of a beating heart. pediatric emotional control. play out, settle enough. a dollar for insides. general admission for silver screened secrets. star of the show absent on the red carpet. cut out the source. fish out of water will to live. no soul ownership. lost control. scream throat raw; fingers in ears, blank stares above spilled secrets flowing freely. restricted to the subject of whispers and hidden smiles.
dont wanna accept that ive broken.

overcast.kid.

false store bought declarations. the need to be wanted overcomes common sense. sugarcoated lies. dissolved to activity without meaning. neglect. worship selfishly. surgery. bleed selflessly. music in your hand, under another's soul. quick. anything but painless. human car crash. care less. secret despisers, jealous for all the wrong reasons. papercuts from scheduled love. call in sick. keep your heart intact for another year. turn the volume down. trick daydreams into nightmares. stay under the covers for twenty-six hours at a time. secrets passed through whispers in silence. venom laced promises a day old. truth never told.

choking.on.nightmares.

i cant sleep. im afraid of monsters in the dark. not the red eyes staring back from behind the closet door, but the skeletons there. the frames of who i was, of what i couldve been. not the long fingers that claw their way out from under the bed, but the chains hanging down. the expectations keeping me here, limiting creativity. i cant sleep with the lights on. its too bright. it hurts to see the mistakes ive made.

silent.in.the.light.

slit my wrists with your sharp designer labels. watch the ink flow out onto the canvas in the form of recycled cliches and phrases. keep the music playing; every note in your memory. surprise essays in driving lessons. concentrate on the wheel and the radio for inspiration. dead languages still in use. fragmented ideals of another perspective. beats tapped out without emotion still make noise. slip through the divider; what you know, what you think. rebellion becomes conformity. learning words standardized centuries ago. bring back the past through delicate personalities and stage acts. prescriptions for the solitary purpose of erradicating necessary imperfections. insomnia restraining daydream delusions; keeping imaginational figments away until the nightmares begin. sleeping through classes; through repetative time periods meant to brainwash violent adolescents into mindless replicas. lose creative license as everyone becomes a poet. copyrighted paraphrase. eraser marks on final scores. no such thing as perfect until the degradation of individuality. self immiseration in civilization participation. flinch away uncomfortably from everyday contact; comfort in touches of strangers' hands. minimize your ability to care. lonely daylight; claustrophobic under the stars. overanalyze the most simple string of letters. lost dreams and what could have beens compared to delusional fantasy filmstrips on repeat during sleep. keep replaying the day's decisions that can never change. regrets. keep misjudging everything you do. stomach pains, dull throbbing of the mind. hungerless for days on end. anything but lonely with words. keep me informed on your impending catastrophe. weather reports of black ice. hide under the covers until the survelliance camera runs out of film. keep the ghosts of your present alive in the alleyways. silhouettes of your future and past combined.